


Hey, Diddle Diddle

by SympatriCuckoo



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: BDSM, Biting, Catheterization, Consent, LITERALLY, M/M, Second chapter-Bad bdsm etiquette, Second chapter-Noncon, Second chapter-Panic attack, Second chapter-Pants wetting fear, Second chapter-Pseudo kidnapping, Second chapter-urination, Sensory Deprivation, Sex Toys, Spanking, catheter, cock torture, dom!papyrus, sub!sans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-06-07 21:42:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6825571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SympatriCuckoo/pseuds/SympatriCuckoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“YOU LOOK SO BEAUTIFUL WHEN YOU CRY.”</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <i>Boss smiles down at him, naked but for his scarf and gloves. “YOU’LL CRY SOME MORE FOR ME, WON’T YOU? WHEN YOU TAKE YOUR PUNISHMENT.” His voice is rough and there’s an edge of a promise to his tone.</i></p><p> </p><p>Response to Goodtimesnewroman's challenge to use the words "Diddly-zone" in a fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sans wakes in increments.

 

He becomes aware of the vibrator first, the way his body is stretched around the toy, twitching and numb from the incessant vibrations. But it’s different than usual, more intense and it feels as though the vibration is carrying through his ass and up into his cock.

 

He opens his eyes, expects to see himself hard and splayed out, a toy between his legs and Boss smirking down at him. Instead it’s dark, a thick black band of nothing across his eyes. He reaches to try to yank off the offending piece of whatever-the-hell it is but his arms are tied together, crossed at the wrist.

 

He tugs at the restraints, both to test their strength as well as to enjoy the feeling of being bound.

 

“Boss?”

 

“QUIET. YOU DON’T GET TO SPEAK UNLESS ADDRESSED.”

 

Sans nods his understanding. He expects Paps to use him: to dominate him roughly, hands gripping tightly, or else to torment him with the toys. But the expected never comes.

 

Sans waits in vain, desperate. He pulls against the bindings, enjoying the chafing against his bones, and he writhes against the dual stimulation in his pelvis, thrusting up and then bucking down against the vibrations.

 

He zeroes in on the sensations, yanking against the restraints until he’s sure that they’ll leave a mark. He whimpers and he moans, gutturally voicing the hunger apparent in his every motion.

 

Boss doesn’t say anything, and it’s easy to forget that he has an audience, easy to forget that there’s anyone in the room other than himself. It’s so easy to fall into the sensations, consciousness pulled into the undertow until he’s just an empty pile of bones reacting helplessly.

 

He needs more, can feel his orgasm building and building and _building_ until…it just stops.

 

“Paps,  Paps, Paps, Paps,” Sans sobs, tears of frustration wet the blindfold and spill down his cheeks as he thrashes about, wild for more, for anything that can push him over the edge.

 

There’s pressure against his neck and Sans stills, surprised. Fingers wipe away his tears.

 

“YOU LOOK SO BEAUTIFUL WHEN YOU CRY.”

 

Sans preens under the compliment.

 

Gloved hands remove the blindfold. More tears trail down the side of Sans’ face as he blinks, eyes adjusting to the sudden light.

 

Boss smiles down at him, naked but for his scarf and gloves. “YOU’LL CRY SOME MORE FOR ME, WON’T YOU? WHEN YOU TAKE YOUR PUNISHMENT.” His voice is rough and there’s an edge of a promise to his tone.

 

The thought of being helpless at Boss’ mercy is arousing, and Sans can feel himself harden further. He knows that whatever the punishment will be, whether he wants to or not, he’s going to be crying by the end of it.

 

Boss reaches over, grips Sans tightly by his shoulder and hip, and then flips him over.

 

The sudden movement jostles the vibrator, angling it uncomfortably. Sans yelps in surprise and pleasure-pain as pressure is put on his dick, squashed between his body and the bed. It feels as though there’s something inside, something long and thin penetrating the entire length of his cock.

 

Sans instinctively flinches away, starts to move onto his hands and knees only to be pushed back down, Boss’ hand on his lower spine, presses him lower and lower until Sans is flush with the mattress, holds him down as Sans squirms.

 

Boss’ hand comes down hard on Sans’ ass. The first hit rocks the vibrator hard against his prostrate; shoves him further into the mattress; puts more weight on his dick; knocks the breath from his body. A choke wheezes out of him, more of a raspy glottal stop than anything else.

 

Sans grits his teeth on the second hit, hands curling tightly into fists.

 

By the tenth, Sans is whimpering high in this throat, eyes beginning to water from the spanking and the over-stimulation. Each smack jars his body, the pain jolting through him, a relentless cadence punctuated by the buzzing of the vibe.

 

By number seventeen, Sans is crying. If Boss is holding back, it’s not noticeable and the smacks land mercilessly, the tempo hard and fast - a strong staccato rudiment.

 

Eventually San loses count, oblivious of everything but the constant frisson of painful ecstasy. Between the burning warmth of his ass and the stimulation of his prostate and dick, he feels like he’s going to combust if Boss doesn’t remove whatever’s in his dick and let him come.

 

A minute passes, then two, the tempo winding down from smacks to slaps to gentle petting. Sans’ pelvis and upper thigh bones feel sensitive, as though he’d been burned: even the slightest touch sends pain tingling through his body. And when Boss rolls him back over, Sans wiggles against the sheets, enjoying the tiny pricks of pain.

 

He stares muzzily up at Boss, eyes still glassy with unshed tears, and he smiles.

 

Boss returns it with a smirk, eyes possessive and indulgent. “PERFECT. YOU LOOK PERFECT LIKE THIS.”

 

Sans shivers in anticipation. Boss is always so affectionate after a punishment, and Sans’ soul thrills to hear compliments from him.

 

A gloved finger tilts Sans’ chin back and the rest of the tears fall, trailing upwards to his temples. “YOU’VE BEEN _SO GOOD_. WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE?”

 

“anything,” he croaks out. “anything, just, please. fuck me.”

 

“AS YOU WISH.”

 

Sans groans in relief as Boss removes the vibrator, turns it off and places it to the side. The bed dips, and Sans’ lower body is raised slightly, legs spread then hooked over Boss’ hips. He’s loose from the vibrator and Boss slides in easily until he’s balls-deep.

 

From this new angle, Sans can see his dick. A small bent plastic tube-clamped closed-protrudes from his slit, and Sans’ eyes widen as he wonders how the hell he had slept through _that_.

 

His gaze darts back to Boss, who looks darkly amused.

 

Idly, Boss toys with the end of the catheter, and Sans moans and bucks wildly, fucking himself on Boss’ cock, as he feels the tubing move inside of his dick. And when Boss begins to move- _finally, finally_ -Sans arches, back bowed as he tries to take Boss deeper.

 

Sans is mewling shamelessly, all cries and bitten-off half-words. Most of all, he begs with his body, heeding Boss’ command even as he needs to come so badly it hurts.

 

Boss grins, a sadistic tilt to his mouth. He stops playing with the catheter, takes it by the end and starts to pull it out. With his free hand, he grasps Sans’ cock and _squeezes_.

 

Sans’ eyes bulge and he screams. It _burns_ and it feels as though it’s a live wire spitting electricity rather than a catheter; and as the last of the tubing exits his body, Sans comes and it feels like acid against his inflamed nerves. He screams again.

 

Boss laughs, fucking Sans through his orgasm, prolonging it until Sans lays limp in his bonds, uses Sans’ pliant body to seek his own pleasure. He buries his face in Sans’ neck, mouthing at the vertebrae, and when he comes, he bites down hard.

 

Sans groans and tilts his head to the side, offering up more – pushing more of his neck against Boss’ teeth.

 

They lay like that for a while, their version of cuddling: Sans tied up and Boss laving at the bite marks.

 

Sans clears his throat. “Fish.”

 

Papyrus levers himself up and undoes the ropes. “YOU OBJECT TO CUDDLING?”

 

“Nah. Just wanted to know if I could talk now…?”

 

“IF YOU MUST.”

 

“Cool. So what brought this on? Not that I’m complaining.” Sans sits up. There are bright red marks decorating his wrists. He presses his fingers into the bruises and shivers.

 

Papyrus watches, a look of satisfaction on his face. “YOU WANTED ME TO TAKE YOU TO THE DIDDLY-ZONE.” He shrugs. “IT SOUNDED LIKE IT COULD BE INTERESTING.”

 

 


	2. Metal-version

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The non-con, fleshed-out first draft of Diddly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: BDSM; bad BDSM; kinda kidnapping (?); bondage; gagged; panic attack; pissing; come shot; bad bdsm etiquette
> 
> DISCLAIMER: THIS IS NOT GOOD ETIQUETTE AND MORE IMPORTANTLY ISN’T HEALTHY. SAFE-WORDS ARE GOOD. USE THEM WHEN NOT FEELING COMFORTABLE NO MATTER WHAT PART OF THE SCENE YOU ARE IN. EVEN IF YOU FEEL GUILTY OVER IT, SAFEWORD ANYWAY!!! YOUR HEALTH AND EMOTIONAL WELLBEING ARE VERY IMPORTANT, AND NOT SAFEWORDING WILL MAKE YOU FEEL WORSE THAN GUILTY- YOU WILL FEEL TRAUMATIZED.

Sans moans and tries to beg Boss for mercy but all that comes out of his mouth is muffled nonsense.

 

Boss never gags him.

 

His eyes fly open.

 

It’s dark, a thick black band of nothing across his eyes. He reaches to try to yank off the offending piece of whatever-the-hell it is but his arms move only a few inches before they stop. He yanks, harder and harder-the sudden movements shifting the toy in his ass, knocking it around his insides and burying the tip at odd angles into flesh, sending him moaning into the gag even as he tests the give of the bindings and the strength of the knot.

 

They hold, and he slumps back, trying to orient himself. But with the blindfold and the restraints, it feels like his world has narrowed to just his existence and his mind focuses on the stimulation: on his ass and his cock and the way the restraints chafe against his bones as he moves.

 

It’d be so easy to just let his consciousness sink into oblivion, just barely aware enough to enjoy the wash of sensations. So easy to just give in and not worry anymore, to just be.

 

It’s a struggle, it continues to be a struggle as he tries his best to block out the pleasure and try to think of a way out of this situation. He tries to take deep even breaths and focus on his breathing, to really feel the air as it rushes through his nasal cavity on every inhale and exhale.

 

He had gone to sleep in his bed, he remembers that at least. And then he woke up…here, wherever here is. Had someone slipped into his room as he slept and tied him up. Was he still in his room? Or had he been abducted?

 

Was Boss alright?

 

He wiggles uncomfortably, trying to get his bearings and realizes quickly that his legs are bound as well.

 

He’s utterly restrained but for his magic, fat lot of good that’d do him when he can’t see jackshit. He briefly contemplates teleporting before ruling that out. He’s vulnerable like this, defenseless, and it would be the height of stupidity to take a shortcut into the unknown in this state.

 

He thinks of summoning his blasters or a bone to try to cut the restraints, but that would take precision and he can just imagine how trying to blindly saw through his restraints would end. Not well, no definitely not.

 

Which leaves him here.

 

Helpless.

 

Please, please let Papyrus be okay.

 

He can feel his breathing quicken as his control wavers then breaks. His soul pounds as his body prepares for an attack, the flow of his magic racing as his breathing becomes labored. His entire body tenses, his hands curl into fists and his throat closes, and as he clamps down around the vibe the vibrations seem to intensify, becoming more painful than pleasurable.

 

Soon, Sans is shaking and wheezing in the midst of a full-blown panic attack.

 

He feels anxious and tight – tense with terror and hyper-aware of his body, of everything that happens to him. As he tries and fails to curl into a ball, yanking at his restraints, the rough fibers dig into joints and into the sensitive cartilage, biting harder and harder until it feels like the terror is curling there as well, choking there just as it squeezes the breath from his body.

 

With the gag in place he can't seem to draw enough oxygen and he feels utterly exposed, as though the very air is pressing down on him, driving painful spikes into his chest. Still, he's hard, perhaps harder than he's ever been. His focus and awareness are narrowed down to his body, and yet it's as though it's happening to another even as he feels himself reacting against his own volition.

 

Sans is terrified and feels utterly out of control, like a top spinning towards the edge of a great fall.

 

Feels as though he's watching from a great height, observing this pitiful creature and finding it weak and wanting.

 

Feels liberated with pretenses pared to nothing; himself flayed down to just  _ being _ .

 

Sans convulses on the knife-edge of panic and pleasure, one fueling the other as his body scrambles to do something, anything, with his pent up magic. Burning pain radiates from his pelvis and his dick throbs and bounces, spasming along with the rest of his body. He almost feels like he's going to piss himself, and he clamps down, trying to stop, trying to maintain _some_ dignity. 

 

But, it hurts. It _burn_ _s_ and Sans bites into the gag to stop himself from crying as he feels himself voiding, bladder spasming and dick jumping with contractions. The first few shots land on his face and ribs and, as Sans gives up and stops trying to hold back, the steam intensifies until he's pissing himself with great pressure and force. It slides down his body, warm and bitterly sweet as he marks himself as an abject failure. And when he's done, when his body feels wrung out, bones rattling with the aftereffects of panic and bladder completely empty but still cramping, Sans realizes that he's not alone. 

 

Fabric rustles near his head and Sans flinches away from the sound. He's afraid, no shit. And angry, again, no shit. And he feels both utterly humiliated that he's wet himself and darkly pleased that at least he's made his own presence unpalatable. Hopefully, whoever it is will just jeer and leave.

 

His insides run cold as he hears a belt click open and a fly unzip. There's a brush against the side of his head as someone lifts the blindfold, and Sans scrunches his eyes closed and bites down into the gag as he braces for the worst. 

 

Nothing happens. Sans opens one eye to a slit, risking a peek. 

 

It's Papyrus.

 

Sans' eyes bug and he feels giddy with relief. Papyrus is okay! He's rescued! They're going to get out of this shit and kick some ass!

 

Sans burbles happily behind the gag. 

 

Boss arches an eyebrow. “I KNOW. YOU WANT THIS, DON'T YOU?” Boss gestures to himself, lazing jerking his cock.

 

Spit dribbles down from the gag, soaking his face as Sans gibbers, shocked and confused.

 

“AHHH FUCK. YOU'RE SO BEAUTIFUL GAGGED!” Boss' strokes speed up. “REALLY DON'T KNOW WHY YOU WERE SO AGAINST IT. AFTER ALL, YOU LOVED IT!”

 

Sans recoils, confusion and shock giving way to understanding, disgust and shame.  _ Boss never gags him _ . It was the one of two things Sans never wanted, one of the only two kinks on his definitely no list.

 

“YOU WERE WRITHING SO MUCH. AND YOU LOOKED SO HAPPY JUST NOW.”

 

And for all Sans' discomfort he doesn't safe-word out. It's not that they don't have a non-verbal one. But Sans feels like the time for protest is over. It's his fault for not trying to stop it to begin with, and now-now he's just ashamed of the unearned praise, at what a bad sub he is.

 

“HAAA. NGH.” Boss' come splashes onto Sans' body, long gone cold from exposure to the air. Where it lands, it burns like Sans' own self-recriminations, his own guilt over letting it get too far out of his comfort zone. 

 

Sans tries to hide his distress, tries to hide how compliments for the successful edging make him feel ill. And he must be good at faking normalcy, at covering over the trauma the experience because there's no concern, no real aftercare.

 

Sans is untied, then ungagged. 

 

Boss presses a kiss against his head and murmurs, “LET'S DO THAT AGAIN, SOMETIME.”

 

Sans agrees, blandly. After all, they're already past the point of no return. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I only used a couple of meanings of the word diddle: "diddly squat" which means nothing (sensory deprivation); the percussive rudiment (spanking); and sex. 
> 
> But the word diddle has several meanings:
> 
> "Noun
> 
> diddle (plural diddles)
> 
> (music) In percussion, two consecutive notes played by the same hand (either RR or LL), similar to the drag, except that by convention diddles are played the same speed as the context in which they are placed
> 
> (slang, childish) The penis.  
> 2011, L. R. Baker, Wingnut: Operation Payback (page 104)
> 
> Paul was the first one to unzip his pants, take out his diddle, and make himself ready to pee on the wire.
> 
> Verb
> 
> diddle (third-person singular simple present diddles, present participle diddling, simple past and past participle diddled)
> 
> (transitive) to cheat; to swindle  
> (transitive) to have sex with  
> (transitive) to masturbate (especially of women)  
> (transitive) to waste time  
> (intransitive) To totter, like a child learning to walk; to daddle.  
> Frances Quarles  
> "And, when his forward strength began to bloom, / To see him diddle up and down the Room!"  
> From: https://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/diddle


End file.
